After we cleaned up the dishes, we washed the deck down with the soapy dishwater; I dried the dishes and returned them to the cabin. I yawned as I locked the last of the cupboards for the night. Becky said, “You can lie down and take a nap, I will wake you in a few hours to relieve me.” I kissed her goodnight and said, “I will sleep if you promise to wear your life vest and safety line while on the deck.” She kissed me hard on the lips and said, “That is a promise I will honor. I have no desire to become fish food if a rogue wave hits us, or I fall asleep in the deck chair. We have promised each other to use the life vests and life lines, and I will not forget, I promise.” As Becky put on her life jacket and headed up to the deck, I crawled into my bed and set my alarm for one o’clock in the morning.
When the alarm went off, I dressed in my warm clothes and put on my dry suit. As I strapped on my life vest and connected the safety line, I heard Becky singing up on the deck. I quietly climbed the ladder and stuck my head up so I could see her. She was sitting in her chair and singing to the sea. As I spoke to her and then stepped up on the deck, she silenced me by holding her finger in front of her lips and saying, “Shush.” I connected my lifeline and sat down beside her. She began to sing again and soon I heard a voice from the sea, a voice that sounded almost human coming out of the water around us. Then I heard the sounds to the port side, and then to stern. I looked out ahead of the Pacifica as the moonlight reflected off the very calm sea and spotted what was singing with my wife. A large pod of dolphins had joined us. They had picked up the sound of Becky’s voice and joined in her song. I sat flabbergasted at what I was hearing and seeing. The dolphins surfaced often alongside the vessel and would rise five or six feet out of the water and then dive again. We sat for over an hour until the super pod moved off towards the north and left us. I spoke to Becky and said, “I have never heard dolphins sing before, nor have I ever heard you sing to the dolphins. That was incredible.” Becky said, “Father taught me the words to an old sailor’s song that he said would call the dolphins to a sailing vessel. I tried it often when Father and I sailed on the weekends and sometimes it worked, most often, it did not. I sat here tonight crying over my love for you and the voyage we were taking together and I just started to sing. As I sang, I heard the pod coming out of the south, and soon they caught up to the Pacifica. I am going to bed my love; you will need to set a port tack in about two hours.”
As I sat on the deck contemplating what I had just seen and heard, I realized that some strange force existed out here on the sea, a force that controlled every living entity that lived or visited this world above Davey Jones’ Locker. I had just witnessed the magic that those who visit this world often try to describe in their songs, poetry, and writings. A magic so real that sailors often hear voices floating on the wind and fish that speak the words of humans. A magic so real that I was now sitting on the deck trying to sort out in my mind the truth about what I had just seen and heard, yet Becky accepted the songs of the dolphins in stride, as if it was something she understood to be real, not magical. I watched the colored lights in the northern skies; the aurora borealis was very vivid tonight. I watched them dance across the surface of the water and flicker first green, and change to red or blue, and then dance up into the sky so high they must have touched the heavens. I sat mesmerized until the sun came up and the reality of the Pacific Ocean returned.
As I watched the sun climb in the sky and warm the air around me, I heard a giggle behind me. I turned to see Becky’s head sticking up through the hatch. She was looking at me. She said, “You did not wake me for my shift,” and then she asked if I was all right. I told her I was fine, maybe better than fine. She stared into my eyes a moment longer and said, “Has the sea taken hold of your soul my friend? Your eyes tell me that you have taken another lover this night, a lover that a sailor who sits watch on a clear moonlight night often discovers.” I smiled and said, “I fear that I am smitten. My life now belongs to the sea. The sea is now my new home.”
Becky came up on deck and peed, and then returned to the cabin. I soon smelled the rich aroma of fresh coffee and warm cinnamon rolls. I heard her climb up the ladder and set a plate of hot rolls on the deck, and then return twice more with two steaming hot cups of coffee. I unfolded the second deck chair and made room for her beside me. As she sat down, I said, “Last night after the dolphins came and sang with you, I watched the northern lights and felt the magic of the sea enter my soul. I listened to the sounds of the millions of creatures that live here and call this place their home. I heard the songs of the whales in the distance, and felt in harmony with the dolphins that returned a second time just before sunrise. I discovered why they visited you last night; they spoke of an unborn human child that perished. They felt your pain, your anguish over the loss of your child, the loss of a life form created here in this vessel. Becky, I now understand your love of the sea, your love for the magic that flows from the surface of the sun, to the very depths of the deepest oceans, and to the core of this planet that we call Earth. Last night, as the dolphins made one last visit to mourn the death of the human child that once grew inside your belly, I realized how much I truly love you and the journey we have embarked upon together. There are only a couple unanswered questions in my mind, and I will put them to you now. Why did you choose me to become your husband, and join you on this adventure, and how did you know that I would agree to your proposal.”
Becky sat down in her chair with the rising sun casting a red hue over everything around us and thought about my question. She said, “I cannot tell you without crying. The story is best left untold.” I sat looking at her and realized that a tear was running down her cheek. As I watched the tear make a trace down her wind-chapped face, I realized that she would tell me if I gave her a moment to put her thoughts together. I sipped on my coffee and looked out towards the distant clouds in the northern skies. The clouds were beautiful as the sun gave the white puffy clouds a bright orange tint. The sky was the bluest blue that I had ever seen, and I again felt in awe of my surroundings, and of the sea below me.
Becky sipped her coffee and finally said, “One night, almost two years ago now, I sat in my father’s small sail boat near the boathouse, and allowed the darkness of night to flow over me. At first, I felt frightened by the dark, but after awhile I began to feel a calmness overtake my mind. As the tiny sailboat and I drifted on the gentle swells of the sea, I heard the voice of my father’s spirit floating over the wind as he spoke to me. He told me that I should follow my dreams and attempt to make both of them come true. He said that he could not predict the outcome of either dream and that only I could turn them into reality. That night my father called the dolphins and told me to seek their guidance. Thankfully, I listened to his words. The following day I pulled out the plans that I had drawn for the SS Pacifica, and began to purchase the steel for the hull. The following week I hired Jim and Fred to help me begin creating the vessel of my dreams. About two months later, I finally found what city you lived in and contacted your daughter, Dawn. She gave me your phone number as I told you earlier. You see Stanley; the Pacifica was one of my dreams. You were the other. I now live in a world where both of my life long dreams have been fulfilled.”
After hearing Becky’s story, I had one last question to ask. I reached over, took her hand in mine and said, “That night in your father’s sail boat, did you intend to end your life by drowning, and did you also intend to end your life last night?” Becky looked startled over the frankness of my question. I saw the tears begin to flow down her cheeks and drip from her chin. She said, “Stanley, that night as I sat in the sailboat, I was very suicidal, and would have finished my mission if Father’s spirit had not called the dolphins to talk me out of it. Nevertheless, you must understand one thing. Last night, I cried over my deep love for my husband. Stanley, you must believe my words. I love you very much, and my suicidal issues were resolved that night in my father’s sailboat. Last night when I sang with the dolphins, they sen
sed my emotions, and we sang of the magical love I feel for you, and the sorrow I felt over the loss of my unborn child.”
***
By ten o’clock in the morning, the heavy storm clouds began to move easterly. It appeared that we would intercept the thunderstorm in two to three hours time. I hoisted one of the battery chargers to the deck and began charging the batteries. An hour and twenty minutes later, the batteries were fully charged and I stowed the generator and prepared the vessel to run submerged if the storm continued to produce the heavy lighting that we could see towards the northwest. Becky checked the NOAA storm channel and discovered that they had issued warnings of heavy thunderstorms with damaging winds, frequent lightning, and golf ball sized hail. They were warning all vessels to avoid the storm’s path. Becky spoke to me when she came up on deck and said, “The storm is very bad. I suggest that we stow the foresail and pack it in the cabin. Then we will only have to deal with the mainsail if we are caught in the storm.” I quickly began taking down the sails and passing the sailcloth and rigging down the hatch. Becky began securing everything that might become a missile if we ran into to heavy seas. I lowered the mast down into the tube in the hull and pinned it securely, and then lowered the top section that telescoped down into the larger lower section. Once both sections were stowed, I ran a hitch pin through a drilled hole through all the mast sections and secured it with a clip. Becky stuck her head up through the hatch and said, “Stanley, I think we should take down the mainsail as well, the storm is quickly gaining on us and the wind is going to blow up some heavy seas. I would like us to submerge within the next ten minutes.” I yelled over the noise of the wind, “Aye, aye, Captain,” and began taking down the sailcloth and the mast rigging. I had no more than passed the rigging down to Becky when the first hailstones began pelting me. The first few were small, but within a minute or so, they were the size of ping-pong balls. I quickly climbed down the hatch ladder and secured the stern hatch door. Becky was ready and quickly began submerging the Pacifica. We could hear the solid thuds of the large hailstones as they struck the hull of the vessel. I hoped none of them had damaged the resin coating on the hull or we would be making repairs when this storm passed.
We lowered the Pacifica down to around forty feet below the surface and let her follow the current. I put the GPS into the tracking mode to see if we were drifting far off course and realized that we were setting fairly steady in the water. We started one propulsion motor and set it to run about half speed. We could see by the GPS that we were moving about two miles per hour towards the northwest. Becky calculated our speed and position and determined that the storm would pass over us in about two hours. For now, we had nothing to do but relax. Becky looked at me and said, “We have some time to kill, how about a nap before lunch.” I chuckled as she began stripping off her clothes, and then jumped into my bed and pulled the covers up to her neck. I had no reason not to join her and followed her lead. The captain of a vessel is always in charge of the crews activities and I certainly did not want to appear insubordinate to my captain.
When we got up from our so-called nap, I was just as tired as before, maybe more so, and I was getting hungry. I cooked eggs and made egg salad sandwiches, and sliced one of the pineapples for desert. As we sat at the tiny eating table, we talked about our plans for the next few days. Becky had calculated that it was between 750 and 850 miles to the Musician Seamounts. We figured it would take us between eight to ten days to travel that distance. We really were in no hurry now that we had visited Uncle Pika and Elizabeth.
As we talked, the depth gauge alarm began sounding and I quickly headed to the stern to see how deep the water really was. The gauge said that the water was now only one hundred feet deep below us. I blew some water from the ballast tanks and raised the Pacifica up to thirty feet below the surface. Becky looked at her watch and said, “We could surface and check the weather, the storm could have passed by now.”
As we surfaced, we could feel the deep swells in the sea, but were determined to see what was lurking outside. Once we were certain we were on the surface, Becky unlatched the hatch and realized that even though the waves were running over ten feet high, it was now only raining. We quickly set up the water collection system in the bow hatch and began filling jugs with fresh rainwater. Within an hour, all four of the jugs were full and we closed up the hatch. I checked the water depth below us and realized we were now sailing in water between one hundred and three hundred feet deep. I wrote down the GPS coordinates and Becky plotted our position on the maps. Becky said, “If we watch carefully, we might find a sandy place where we can set this bucking bronco down on the bottom and wait out the backside of this storm. We will not be able to sleep this night with the Pacifica rolling around like this all night.”
It was around six in the evening before we found a place where we could set the Pacifica down on the bottom and wait out the large rolling waves above us. Even with the hull sitting on the sandy bottom at twenty fathoms (120 feet), we could feel the Pacifica gently surging as the wind driven waves rolled across the surface of the sea above us.
Around nine o’clock, I needed to get some sleep. I peed in my chamber pot and then crawled under the covers of my bed. Becky sat on her bed and read a book for a couple of hours. The small battery operated lanterns were just right for reading in the darkened cabin. When I woke during the night, she had crawled into my bed and snuggled up beside me. My being awake disturbed her and she got up to pee. I heard her giggle as the sound of her pee hitting the water in the bottom on the chamber pot seemed to echo around the interior of the cabin. When she returned to my bed, she snuggled up close. I kissed the back of her neck and shoulder as she pressed her body closer to mine.
When I woke again, I looked at my watch and it was eight fifteen in the morning. I could no longer feel the Pacifica moving around and suspected that the storm and windblown waves above us had subsided. I carefully slid out of bed, trying not to disturb the sleeping beauty that was in my bed and went to the stern of the vessel. Just then, I heard Becky say, “You can start the compressor if you need to, I am awake. It just feels really good to lie here a little longer.” When I had sufficient air pressure, I flew some of the water from the ballast tanks and felt the Pacifica slowly begin to rise. I watched the depth gauge and soon saw it reading sea level. I went up to the stern hatch, unlocked it and gently raised it to see what was outside. The bright sunlight flooded the cabin and Becky said, “Yes, the storm is over. We can hoist the sails.” I went up on deck and raised the foresail and mainsail masts, and then prepared to hang the sails. We had lost a day’s sailing due to the storm and to make up for it, we decided to hang opposing sails on each mast. The speed increase with twice as much cloth was only a modest gain, but it would help us reach our destination a little faster.
While Becky tended to breakfast, I brought both of the solar panels up on the deck and began charging the batteries. We had used about a quarter of the charge as we ran submerged for quite a few hours yesterday. Becky made a little oatmeal, but then made us some pancakes. As I sat down with her in the deck chairs to eat, she giggled and said, “Please be very careful today. I think the last time we made pancakes, we also made a baby.” I looked up at her and she began to laugh. I said, “Very funny young lady.” She looked at me and said, “I am just telling you the reality of eating pancakes.” I said, “Thanks for the warning. I will try to keep any remaining swimmers under control the rest of the day.” Becky looked me in the eyes and said, “I will be glad when you have been tested in a few weeks. I hate latex coming between us.”
During the day, we lowered the sails and had a proper bath in the ocean. When we had toweled off, we stood on the deck and finished air-drying our bodies. We hoisted the sails again and rubbed suntan lotion over each other’s exposed skin. As we sailed along towards the Musician Seamounts, we carefully plotted our position. An old textbook of Hawaii told the exact location where we might be able to see one of the old volcanoes tha
t now resided 2500 feet below sea level, but it was only visible under certain light conditions and in very calm water. I knew that the chances of seeing anything but darkness down there was almost zero, but we wanted to say that we had been there once in our lifetime.
***
We had six or seven days left to sail before we would be anywhere near the seamounts, but this time in our lives was very special, and turned out to be where we as a couple truly bonded.
We had discovered that we needed to make a modification to the Pacifica that would help us when we ran on the surface under full sail. We wanted to change the stern hatch door so it was forty inches above the top of the deck. Becky’s original design called for hatch doors that were only ten inches high. When sailing in calm waters, this was no real problem, but when the waves were high and we splashed a lot of water over the deck, inevitably some of the seawater would end up down in the cabin. We were constantly mopping up water and cleaning the salt off the ladder and floor below. This modification we were considering would cause us a little more work climbing up and down a longer ladder, plus we would have a short ladder on the outside of the now taller hatch entrance. We would also have to deal with raising the generators an extra forty inches when we wanted to charge the batteries.
SS Pacifica Page 18